The Rules of the Game
by falling into heaven
Summary: Sometimes, tHis job was a game. And just like any game, it had it's rules. Sam has a few rules,and people would do best to learn them.


This is a series of oneshots based on some rules I found (I thnk they're from Esquire) and reminded me of things Sam might say. If Gibbs has rules, why shouldn't Sam?

review, please!

* * *

><p><strong>Rule No. 129<strong>

Sam drilled his fangers against the door frame, elbow hanging out of the window as he closed his eyes against the glare of the sun through he windscreen of the patrol car. Andy sat beside him, holding the speed gun, hr eyes locked on the monitor.

They'd been sat in the speed trap for two hours, and they must have had the best behaved citizens or toronto driving past. Not one vehicle over the speed limit, not one dangerous driver.

It was depressing.

"Favourite movie."

"McNally, nothing is happening. Let me sleep." he growled, refusing to open his eyes.

"Sam!" she replied. "Can you at least pretend to be friends with me? Chat... give me something to do!"

"Count how many red cars go past."

"Why?"

"You wanted something to do. It's what Sarah and I used to do as kids to pass the time."

"Just sat in speed traps for kicks, did you?" Andy griped.

He shot her a sideways glance. "As your _friend_, McNally, I'm going to ignore that."

She muttered something incomprehensible.

Sam sighed loudly, sitting up straight and turning to face her. "Alright. What's got your panties in a twist?"

"Nothing. My underwear's just fine, thank you."

"Sure it is. Let me have it."

"Traci blew me off. To have a drink with Detective Rosatti."

"Oh."

Andy chewed her lip, wondering if she was going to regret telling him. "I don't _mind_, it's just-"

"She's Luke's ex, she's clearly not here to make friends yet here she is, stealing yours?" he guessed, biting back a grin. Rosatti and Callaghan were smart Detectives, but good lord the kiddies were dumb where it counted. If they weren't already bumping uglies, Sam was willing to bet it wouldn't be long. In fact, he, Oliver and Jerry did already have a betting pool in place, though he and Ollie argued that they were at disadvantage since Jerry worked alongside the pair. Jerry's response had been that Ollie was the only one at a disadvatage since Sam worked with McNally, so also had the added help of a smart yet oblivious fiancee.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. Sarah might have been afraid of everything, but she still had her share of teenage drama."

"It's not teenage drama!" Andy exclaimed, turning to glare at him.

"Speed trap!" Sam grinned, slamming on the accelerator, throwing Andy back in her seat. He failed to hide his smirk as she glowered, watching him jam on the sirens.

The dark green sedan didn't take long to pull over an Sam manoevered the squad car in front of it. The pair got out, striding over to the offending car.

"Is there a problem, officer?" the man behind the wheel asked.

Sam peered at him for a moment. "Sir, can you tell me wht speed yo were travelling at?"

"Was I over the limit?"

"By seven miles per hour, sir."

"I do apologise."

_Yeah, sure ya do._ "I'm stil going to have to give you a ticket, sir. If you have any problems, take it down to your local division." he instructed, pulling out his ticket book and scribbling down the necessary details. "Drive safe now, Sir."

Andy watched the exchange silently, getting back into the car as Sam did. "What's up with you?"

"That's my line, McNally."

"Seriously." she frowned. "You usually give drivers hell, especially if you're bored."

"Did you see his moustache?"

"No."

"Thin, trimmed, neat. A posh man's moustache."

"So?"

"Rule Number 129, McNally. There is so much a mustache says about a man. You know what that moustache told me? I'm going to sue you, first chance I get."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. My union rep already complains he gets too much to do." he muttered with a devious smirk.

"Right." Andy had no doubt about it. Though effective, Sam's methods could be... in the grey area of the legal spectrum. Statistically, that could only work in his favour so many times. "Sam?"

"What, McNally?"

"These rules... should I write them down?"

He chuckled to himself, closing his eyes as he switched off the engine. "So long as you follow them, McNally, I don't care whether you write them down, put them in your i-whatsit or crochet them onto your pillow."

She hesitated for a moment, before pulling out her spare notepad she used for scribblings and reminders she didn't want the brass to see, or be read in court.

_Rule No 129: There is so much a mustache says about a man._

Her dad always said, it's better to be safe than shot later. If Sam told her a rule, she'd best heed it. At least until people stopped calling her rookie.


End file.
